


Glass Figurines

by rebelwith0utacause



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dominance, Established Relationship, F/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25408501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwith0utacause/pseuds/rebelwith0utacause
Summary: There’s something about the way you two look in the mirror, his face reflected in the space over your left shoulder, almost reminding you of your personal demon telling you to let go of everything tonight. He stands leaning on the door frame, arms crossed at the elbows, a thin black crop almost hidden by his side. You can’t help but appreciate the single curl that’s fallen from his bun. His hair isn’t long enough to reach the elastic yet, but that blond strand is driving you mad, itching to push it back as you bury your fingers in his scalp.His eyes appear black as he takes you in, slowly moving his feet until he’s right behind you, the buttons of his silk shirt sensually grazing your naked back. “Did I tell you you could wear clothes?” He holds your gaze through the mirror and you can see a hint of disapproval in his stare. It robs you of breath for a nanosecond, but it’s enough to twist your stomach in a nasty coil. He moves a step back saying “Strip.” in an almost whisper.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings & You, Luke Hemmings/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Glass Figurines

It is almost ridiculous how something so seemingly ordinary could make you feel carnal things. The silk ribbon feels like a dream as it glides through your fingers. You would normally use half of the time it took you today to put on your pointe shoes, but the reason behind wearing them makes you feel heady. You finish off with a bow and leave it untucked, nothing but following instructions.

You straighten up and move to stand in front of the mirror. Your hair is up in a ballet bun, every stray piece tucked away, your face is free of makeup and your skin is free of any jewelry, except for a dainty silver chain holding the tiniest triskelion pendant. Your shoulders are almost bare, just two tiny straps holding your wrap dress in place. The hollows of your clavicles create the perfect sensual shadows in the muted light.

Standing straight, like a true ballet dancer, you survey the reflection in front of you, noticing the fragility of your curves and the strength of your posture. The sharp curves of your shoulders and elbows turned at a slight angle make you look like a glass figurine, one of those breakable knick-knacks your mother used to keep locked away behind even more glass. But the eyes following the curve of your back invigorate you with a force so strong, you feel like you can take on the world, at least his, for the night.

There’s something about the way you two look in the mirror, his face reflected in the space over your left shoulder, almost reminding you of your personal demon telling you to let go of everything tonight. He stands leaning on the door frame, arms crossed at the elbows, a thin black crop almost hidden by his side. You can’t help but appreciate the single curl that’s fallen from his bun. His hair isn’t long enough to reach the elastic yet, but that blond strand is driving you mad, itching to push it back as you bury your fingers in his scalp. 

His eyes appear black as he takes you in, slowly moving his feet until he’s right behind you, the buttons of his silk shirt sensually grazing your naked back. “Did I tell you you could wear clothes?” He holds your gaze through the mirror and you can see a hint of disapproval in his stare. It robs you of breath for a nanosecond, but it’s enough to twist your stomach in a nasty coil. He moves a step back saying “Strip.” in an almost whisper. 

Your motions are jerky, hands trembling, knowing this is just the beginning. Your fingers find the knot and work on loosening it up. The two parts of the dress fall to your sides until finally, you shrug your shoulders and the thin strips lose their perch. The silky blush fabric lying crumpled on the ground, you are left with nothing but a black transparent g-string, covering everything yet nothing at all.

Feeling his eyes caress your naked form in the mirror makes your nipples tighten in anticipation like he’s already started playing with them. You try to stay put but it’s proving to be a workout for your willpower. His body, his whole presence is like a magnet, making your body sway backwards, dying to feel his touch. 

He meets you halfway, his free hand stopping your movements with a firm grasp of your shoulder. It slowly dips down, but it never really reaches your preferred destination. “Let’s work on your plies.” His fingertips find your necklace, playing with the little pendant for a beat too long. “Turn around to face me.”

You do as he says, using the smooth point of your left shoe to twirl in his direction. His hand is now on your other shoulder, stopping further movement. In hindsight, you should’ve known this was coming. He knows you better than you know yourself, knows all of the little things that make you tick and moan his name. He knows how his semi-buttoned shirts make you zone out, thinking about running your fingers through the little wisps of hair. So it comes as no surprise that he’s purposefully left it open, a button more than usual.

It’s right in your line of vision, there but unable to touch, not until he says so. Swallowing your urges, you tilt your head back to look him in the eyes, waiting for his signal. There are a million words passed between you two in the span of the two seconds it takes him to blink. You focus on two: trust and challenge.

Shuffling your feet, you assume your position, heels touching, feet in line, eyes still on him and you start to move. Your knees bend as you lower your body, arms stretched out on both sides of you, trying to keep balance, but it’s futile. There isn’t enough room for movement between the mirror behind you and his body in the front. Your weight shifts to the back and a moment later you find your ass hitting the floor, Luke tsking from above you. 

“Rookie mistake. You should know better than that by now.” 

It almost brings tears to your eyes. You want to please him every step of the way, and seeing him disappointed tugs at your heartstrings. 

“Come on. Get up. Start again and actually pay attention this time.”

You roll your ankles inwards, the rigidity of the pointe shoes making it a bit challenging, getting on your knees and lifting off of the ground. Eyes searching his, you assume your position again. 

“Steady now.” you follow his directions. “Focus on your hips and your thighs. Spread them and keep your muscles clenched.” You can feel the burn in your thighs and calves, your muscles elongating and contracting, but you welcome the pain. “That’s it, now hold your position. And slowly start lifting yourself up.” His eyes never leave yours. “Good girl.”

You almost lose your balance again. Hearing him call you his good girl has that effect on you. You move into position again, repeating the same steps a few more times. Your calves are starting to ache, but it doesn’t even compare to the ache you feel in your center. Every time you drop, the string of your panties moves to the front, creating a subtle friction at your core. You don’t have to check to know that the mesh material at the front of your panties is soaked through and leaking.

It doesn’t help that every time you get low, your face is in perfect alignment with the bulge in his pants. You can vaguely smell his arousal and it amps up yours.

Repeating the moves helps you get into a bit of a trance. Your mind fogs up, your breathing gets more shallow, spending energy only on working your muscles. That is why you never really expect the hit.

You can feel the sting of the crop on your left asscheek, the sudden contact of the leather bringing more blood flowing at the place of impact. His left hand lands on the side of your neck, fingers digging in your shoulder and his thumb pushing your chin up to look at him.

“Didn’t I tell you to pay attention?” He lifts both eyebrows, lips pinching in a thin line. “Or were you so distracted by my cock that you failed to follow simple instructions? Answer me!” 

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. “No sir.”

His blue eyes turn as dark as the night sky, nostrils flaring at an exhale. “Then why was your ass out like that, huh?” He makes his displeasure known by smacking your right then left asscheeks with the crop in succession, making you flinch forward, spreading your thighs even further. “Why did you bend at the waist like you were waiting for someone to plug your holes from behind?”

Your breath catches in your throat. His words prompting your vocal cords to produce an embarrassingly long moan. You squeeze your eyes shut, the visuals hot enough to brand your mind.

The pad of his thumb finds your lower lip, applying a tiny bit of pressure and pulling it down. You’re an aching mess. Body in an awkward squat, ass blindly searching for the sting of the crop, panties so drenched they stick to your skin, nipples painfully hard, head blank with lust.

“Look at you… Such a needy little girl. You really want my cock, don’t you?” You nod your head enthusiastically, tongue poking out to lick his thumb on every down movement. He presses your face to his groin, the material chafing at your pouty lips. Inhaling the scent that is undoubtedly him heightens your arousal. Your constant moving has you on the verge of coming.

“Not so fast, slut. You have to work for it first.” He taps your ass again. “Hands behind your back. Show me how much you want it.”

His hand releases the back of your head to work on unbuttoning his pants. Before he can pinch the zipper between his fingers, you nudge your head forward, catching the little metal piece with your teeth and pulling it slowly down. Your eyes never lose contact and neither does your skin. His thumb is rubbing circles on your right cheek while he gazes into your eyes, knowing that this is the calm before the storm.

Releasing you from his grip, he lowers the waistband of his briefs. His dick bobs out a bit until it settles on your chin. You can feel the velvet of his skin as you move your head to the side, using the bridge of your nose to trace a vein. It’s a heady combination for your senses. Pursing your lips, you press a couple of close-mouthed kisses on his side, moving even lower to lick at the base. You flatten your tongue, not worrying about having enough saliva to help you coat him. Slowly dragging it to his tip, you trace intricate swirls and watch his eyes cloud over. 

After what feels like an eternity of anticipation, you kiss his tip, opening your mouth little by little to take more of him. You decide on a few test bobs, loving the weight of it on your tongue. Moans escape through your nose, too scared that if you take your mouth off of it, you may lose it forever. That thought spurs you on to take an inch more, and another one, and another, until you have most of it in your mouth and the tip is hitting the back of your throat.

“Almost forgot how greedy your little mouth is…” His eyes are twinkling, mouth turning into a condescending smirk. “You take me so well.”

The degrading remarks translate into praise in your foggy mind and you’d do anything to hear them leave his lips again. So you mentally prepare yourself and take him all the way. No matter how hard you try to tell yourself to relax your throat, you know that it takes a while. A round of coughing irritates your mouth long enough to produce so much saliva that a single strand of it leaves through your lower lip and dangles in the space between you and the floor.

Breathing through your nose helps. The initial panic subsides and you can feel your muscles relax against the intrusion. You move up and down on his cock, almost pulling out but never quite doing it, hollowing your cheeks to draw more of him in you. When you’re at the tip you make a disturbingly loud slurping sound, gathering his precum and your spit before you let it drip on you. You always liked the mess, a visual representation of your thoughts and feelings.

You go in for the kill, taking him entirely before backing away. You’re in control, in, out, in, out. You can feel it getting thicker. If your hands weren’t behind your back and were caressing his balls instead, you can almost swear they’d be ready to burst.

But you should know better than to believe you are in charge. The taps are light in the beginning. His body leaning over you to deliver the blows. The new angle takes his dick even farther down your throat, making you lose your rhythm. The more you bob, the more he smacks, your bum redder by the minute. And it gets worse from there.

It feels like he is about to come but it never happens. You’re growing frustrated, both sexually and mentally, like it’s your fault that you can’t please him. And it feels like he’s punishing you for it, his taps now moving towards your center, sounding even more ominous against the wet material.

With a final push, you get all up in his space, your nose pressing against the trimmed curls, tongue sticking out to lick at his balls, and he’s a goner. Without a warning, you can feel the spurts hit the back of your throat, and as parched for his praise as you are, you lap it all up and swallow.

He holds your head there for a few seconds more before grabbing your bun and pulling himself off of you. “Did that satisfy your cravings, slut?” You shake your head from side to side, knowing that the boldness might get you in trouble, but too far gone to pay heed. “Turn around.”

You pivot on your toes and you find yourself facing the mirror. The sight is… interesting to say the least. Your mouth is dark and your skin is red from all of the effort. You know that it’s gonna hurt in the morning because he’s not the smallest you’ve ever had. But it’s the eyes that have you making a double-take. Your pupils are blown wide and there’s a slight sheen of tears, but behind it all there’s a healthy dose of pride. That you’ve managed to make him come. That you’ve still got it.

He uses his entire body to push you closer to the mirror. You’re dwarfed by his size, head barely coming to rest on his shoulder. You can feel him trying to nudge his cock between your legs, panties pushed to the side, but no matter how hard he tries to do it, you’re a bit too short for it to be comfortable. So you go up on your toes and push your backside to him. You cross your legs at the ankles and brace your hands on the mirror, feeling him slowly push inside of you. The stretch feels like a million supernovas exploding every time his skin comes in contact with one of your nerve endings. 

Arms braced on top of yours, hips moving against your own, your body is almost plastered to the mirror. The glass is fogged up from your breath and your breasts are uncomfortably pressed against it, your nipples still crying for attention. You press your cheek against it, turning to catch a glimpse of him, but he’s too tall, so you completely move your chin up and find his stare in the mirror.

It’s like he’s looking in your soul, knows that it only takes a small move to the left to hit that spot, but he doesn’t do it. He likes to tease you until you are a whimpering mess, asking him to “Please, sir. Please make me come. I need it so bad. I promise I’ll be a good girl. Please.”

You know that he likes to hear it, the desperation in your voice. Likes to know that he’s the only one that can bring out your inner freak. His mouth tips in a side smirk and he moves it down to your ear. “No.”

The refusal is followed by a nip at your earlobe. “You don’t get to come yet. You’ve been very needy and very bad and you know the rules in this room.” 

“Bad girls come last.” You whisper through a broken voice.

“That’s right. Bad girls come last.” He ends the sentence with a kiss on your temple. “Now, I suggest you help me out here. Show me what you’ve got and I might drive the bad out of you yet.”

You start pushing back in earnest, trying to match his thrusts, and every time he gets close to you, you grind your hips in a downward motion, trying to feel him in your deepest darkest places. You work your inner muscles, clenching on him in perfect rhythm, trying to milk him dry, but he’s always had more stamina. You no longer see him in the mirror. It’s a blur of midnight blues and blonds, so powerful, they consume you.

You almost feel like giving up, happy to live in this overstimulated but never fulfilled state if it means that he’s right there beside you, but he loses the reigns of his control. His hips move more harshly against yours, knuckles turning white next to yours on the mirror. He switches it up, catching your g-spot with every push. Your mouth opens up in a silent scream but nothing comes out.

Knowing how he likes his control, in a last-ditch effort to be good for him, you hold off coming. Asking for permission has never been easier as you stumble over words, barely managing to utter “Please. Come. Need.” And he knows what you’re saying. His grunts fill your ears as he points each word with a piston of his hips. “Come. Now.”

And the dam breaks. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and moan his name.

Fireworks pop behind your eyelids.

There’s ringing in your ears as his moans reverberate in your mind.

You can feel your combined juices leaking out of your hole as your breath and heart rate turn to normal.

His breath is warm on your shoulder, his loose loc dangling in front of your breast.

“I think you broke me.” You can feel his laugh before you hear it, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He nudges his head in the side of your neck, peppering you with little kisses on his way to your lips. It’s a leisurely affair, you’re in no hurry to move, and sharing the same breath somehow feels right. After a minute, he slightly pulls away, the awkward angle making your neck hurt. “Come on, sweetheart, time to clean you up.” 

You protest almost immediately, a whine leaving your lips. “But I don’t wanna move. Can we stay like this forever?” He kisses your lips once more before saying “You dirty girl.” His heat leaves your back and he pulls your hand in his, leading you both to the bathroom. “We don’t want a UTI on our hands, do we?” 

You almost gag at the thought of drinking another cup of cranberry juice again so you speed up your steps, almost dancing in front of him in your ballet shoes. You sit on the toilet, working on untying your laces while Luke tests the water for the shower. The sleeves on his shirt are slowly getting soaked through and it reminds you of another time, a week before, when he fingered you so hard, you came all over his hand, making a mess of his favorite dark green silk shirt. You were so sore afterward. He knows that you love your orgasms, but you love your punishment even more.

You’re pulled from your lustful thoughts by the sight of him undressing. It’s been years, your bodies changed, morphed from the youthful glow of adolescence to hardened adult skin. You’ve seen him bulk up, slim down, get a bit rounder and lose a few too many pounds, but his body never failed to amaze you. It seemed like it was everchanging, yours but never the same.

Stepping out of your shoes, you test the coolness of the floor tiles on the balls of your feet, silently moving behind him and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. Scenes always made you clingy, like a newborn kitten, paws out to get as much contact as you could. He stills in his movement, hand coming to rest on top of yours on his abs.

“You know that I love you, right?” You wonder if he can hear you, words getting lost on his skin. “No more than I love you, sweetheart.”

He pulls on your arm, moving you to the front and pushing you inside the shower. “Now stop stalling, dirty girl, and get to it.” You give him one last pout and turn towards the spray of water. You can feel him coming up behind you, soaking his hands in water to start the lather. He brings them to your skin, rubbing thorough circles with his palms to clean you. He starts at the top and slowly moves down, by the time he reaches your pussy, you already feel the zing of arousal.

This time it’s different, no pretenses, no role-playing, just one soul in two bodies trying to connect again. His fingers are gentle, but they just know where to caress and where to push, bringing you to a quick but shattering orgasm. “Babe, I think you broke me again.”

His laugh rings in the tiny bathroom. “I didn’t know you were made of glass, baby. My little glass figurine.”

You duck your head to rinse the suds off and hide the blush that’s working it’s way up your cheeks. Once both of you are thoroughly cleaned, you step into your bathrobes, warding away the cold of your apartment. You slowly dry off standing side by side in front of the vanity mirror with nothing but thoughts of cuddles on the bed. You’re done first with your routine so you move to the bedroom, making sure the bed is made. You pull on his Laconia shirt and a set of fresh undies before you get yourself all cozy underneath the covers. 

Luke comes out a couple of minutes later, already prepped for bed. He moves to his side, getting in and pulling you flush. Your head nestles itself on his shoulder, getting ready to fall asleep.

There’s a soothing sensation on your lower lip, something velvety and viscous with a faint smell of lemonade. You can feel Luke’s fingers rubbing your favorite lip balm on your lips, making sure every inch is coated before he closes the lid and turns off his bedside lamp. He shuffles a bit on the bed to get comfy and presses his lips to the crown of your head. 

You know it’s coming. “Are you okay? Was I too rough on you?” You love the way he’s so attentive, always putting your safety first, even though he knows you love nothing short of total destruction. “I’m alright, love. You were perfect. Don’t worry about me.” 

“You know I always will. Now go to sleep, my sweet little girl, you need it.” And it’s so easy to comply when he starts humming your favorite tune, your mind drifting off, handled with care in the safety of his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. Come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://rebelwith0utacause.tumblr.com/post/624189491969720320/glass-figurines).


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